


GOT Simulation: Before AGOT 2

by CreativeLiterature



Series: GOT Simulation [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:08:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28522938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreativeLiterature/pseuds/CreativeLiterature
Summary: Once again, a year before the events of AGOT, five friends become self-inserts to enjoy the peace before the war. Short, light hearted and nonsensical.
Relationships: Jon Arryn/Lysa Tully Arryn, Renly Baratheon/Loras Tyrell, Samwell Tarly/Desmera Redwyne
Series: GOT Simulation [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2089383
Kudos: 2





	GOT Simulation: Before AGOT 2

**PROLOGUE**

Adam sadly surveyed the simulation, where he felt he had let his friends down, while they ruminated over their choices. He hoped he hadn't set them too far apart from him.

"I'm gonna be Sam!" Max locked in his choice, and became the fat heir to Horn Hill.

"He'll make you take the black," Clara pointed out.

"So?" Max replied. "I'll show him I'm worth it."

"Yeah," Adam cheered, for he too wanted to prove himself.

"Not to impress him," Max smiled wryly. "To prove I can do it for myself."

"Why would you do that," Clara scathed, while Zoe watched with folded arms.

"'Cos I can," Max put his tongue out, turning to Grace. "Who are you gonna be, kish?"

"I'm gonna be Arya," Grace brightened, as Clara frowned. "I want Sansa to be my older sister. Clara can you be Sansa?"

"Piss off," Clara shook her head, exchanging a glance with Zoe. "Why would I want to be her?"

"To be my sister!" Grace beamed. "We can hang out - "

"No thanks," Clara retorted, and put an end to the matter. "Who are you choosing, cocka?"

"Renly," Adam winced, with a little smile as Clara rolled her eyes and Max grinned.

"You're gonna pack the fudge!"

"Renly is a good man," Adam replied, though all saw through his guise. "Who will you be, Zoe?"

"Lysa," Zoe said tersely, to scandalised reproaches from Clara and Max. "Her kid needs a proper mother."

"Urgh," Clara picked one.

"Who is it, Clara?" Grace asked eagerly. "Did you choose Sansa?"

"No," Clara scathed. "Margaery."

"Margaery," Grace wilted a bit. "But why her?"

Clara fixed Grace with a glare. "Because I'll be a better Margaery than you."

"Then begin!" Aemon clapped his hands, and all knew blue and fell into the light…

Adam/RENLY

Adam woke up in the bedchamber of Storm's End, looking at his hands and then at his reflection in the bowl of water before he washed his face. Renly was handsome, no doubt; but younger.

Once he had bathed and dressed, he emerged out into a light rain in the yard, where soldiers were no doubt keeping keen with their swords battering against each other's armor.

"My lord Renly," called Ser Cortnay, so that the surrounding knights and soldiers might know their liege to be near, and to stop any unsavory talk.

"Good morning," Adam said affably, wincing at the rain which spattered on his doublet and chain of emeralds around his neck.

"It could be better, my lord," Ser Cortnay rose his eyebrows. "Perhaps to break your fast sooner? Young Edric is in the hall."

"Oh, him," a shadow passed across Adam's face; a flicker of recognition. "Yes, I'll come along."

Across the yard, men no less kept up their tempo, and Adam entered the hall, where Edric smiled to see the Lord of Storm's End.

"Uncle," he nudged up a bit, that Adam might take his seat at the high table.

Adam smiled at the boy, who could be his son but for the Florent ears.

"Ser Cortnay," Adam told his castellan. "Prepare my horse for midday. I'd like to take Edric riding."

Clara/MARGAERY

Clara's handmaid adjusted the green sash around her gown, spritzing rosewater on her wrists and adjusting the butterfly hairclip that nestled in her brown curls.

Clara thought Margaery was more beautiful than she was; the Tyrell girl had no freckles and her hair curled better and a more natural, at-ease smile.

Still, her moue was in a perpetual pout of mild displeasure as she sauntered out of the room, gathered quickly by her cousins Alla, Megga and Elinor, one with a booming voice she did not care to listen to as she led them like a queen bee down the stairs and into the courtyard, where Garlan and Loras had returned from a bout of early riding.

"Did you slay any monsters, good knights?" Lady Leonette asked, pecking her husband on the cheek. Her own were as flush as the apples of her House.

"None so far," Garlan grinned, and Clara had to admit he was cute.

She turned to Loras, bright in his armor and similar to Margaery with his curls.

"So are you going to Storm's End?" she asked boldly.

"I've just returned a fortnight past, sister," Loras' brow was quizzical. "Besides, it will only be Ser Cortnay when Lord Renly returns to the capital."

Clara said no more of it, only wanting to tease him into an admission. But the awkwardness rising within the courtyard was the unspoken secret of Loras' affiliation with Renly.

"Where's Willas?" Clara asked, to defuse the tension, not wanting to unsettle things so soon, but feeling as though she couldn't quite correct them through firmer action.

"With his dogs," Olenna walked by, with Erryk and Arryk on either side, her breath sour as she kissed Clara on both cheeks, though she must have just broken her fast. "How are you, my dear?"

"Fine," Clara raised an eyebrow, at this irascible old woman who would seek to sell her to the king. "I'm going to see him."

Max/SAM

Max was tubby in real life, but not to the degree that Sam was. Panting already just from the trip downstairs from his chambers and into the yard, he could sense the mocking stares from guards and servants alike, though those who didn't mind his slightly feminine ways took a back seat to the sudden indignation that rose up the back of his throat.

"Hey," Max panted, speaking to the master at arms who frowned for all the attempts made to sharper him had been dull work. "Where's my dad?"

"Lord Randyll is out hunting for the morn, with his son," the way he said it spoke volumes. Not entirely contemptuously could he turn on his heel and dismiss his liege's heir who would be lord one day, but made his point all the same as he continued on his rounds.

Max entered the kitchens, where food was hot and ready to go. His mouth watered at the sight even if it wasn't as delectable or immediately recognisable as a full spread back home.

"Samwell," his mother's eyes creased like crow's feet to hug him. He liked the feel of a warm mother, even if he knew he must spurn it. "Come. You can help knead the bread - "

"Nah," Max shook his head, noticing the door ajar nearby and finding himself in a larder, full of barrels of ale. An idea popped into his mind and he ventured once more out into the yard.

Soldiers clashed against one another, and Horn Hill was clearly a stronghold where discipline was not lax. The turrets, crenellations and drawbridge were all well guarded, and he was sure they were trained well. He was not amiss to that no matter his ferocity, his weight in a fight would lay him flat on his back, and he had no intention of lying like a puddle to further the point of Sam's uselessness.

With a sigh, he knew there was work to be done and began searching the castle for tools.

Grace/ARYA

Grace woke up with the taste of snow to come, and bounded out of bed, to find her messily folded clothes in her cedar chest. There were plenty that were just drab and dull enough to allow for her to get dirty in, but _she_ wanted something prettier!

She found some old gowns that her mother had long since decided she would not wear in any case, a gown in Stark grey and wore her hair up in pigtails, just as Septa Mordane came in.

"Child!" she gasped, and Grace froze in fear and her wide eyes told the septa to smother her expression with a smile. "I'm not telling you off. You look lovely in that gown, if you just let me - "

Not daring to interrupt the silence, Septa Mordane fixed Grace's hair and arranged her gown so that she looked more seemly. With all the rapture of bliss, if not comportment of a lady, the septa was glad to see that Arya had finally decided to obey her mother's wishes.

Zoe/LYSA

Zoe awoke with a start, realising she was in the richly furnished bedchamber of the Tower of the Hand, with some silver falcon heraldry to remind her of her husband.

His side was empty, and she presumed Lord Arryn had risen early to do whatever the king asked of him.

In came her handmaids not long after, and she bathed but refrained from powdering her face and selected the Tully blue with silver jewellery, to complement both houses of Lysa's origin. Her hair in the Myrish looking glass was reddish auburn, not dissimilar to her own.

"Where's my son?" Zoe demanded tersely.

"In the nursery, my lady," the handmaid blinked with some surprise.

Zoe followed her handmaids through the corridors and down towards one of the rooms, and in she entered to find a small, shaking boy being administered some sweet sleep by maester Colemon.

"What's that for?" Zoe asked, jumping as she realised her error.

"His fits, my lady," maester Colemon replied quizzically. "A small dose in the morning never hurts."

"Leave him to me," Zoe ushered them away, and the door was closed behind her, and the boy rushed to her side, fingering her robes. "No!"

His face was chastened and he broke into tears, and Zoe's face became hard.

"Stop it!"

In fright, he stopped but continued shaking, the sweet sleep still needing time to take effect. Zoe tried to stroke his hair but it was greasy, and his doublet already bore saliva and snot.

"Come with me," Zoe ordered, holding out her hand. Robert shook his head, and she took him into her arms, just this once and led him out into the corridor. Her handmaids and the maester darted out of hushed conversation. "Take me to my husband at once."

Adam/RENLY

Adam made a lord's progress around the stormlands, and brought young Edric with him, as well as a dozen retainers and advance notice to his bannermen that he would be expected. Many castles and holdfasts were visited; chief among them Blackhaven of House Dondarrion, House Buckler of Bronzegate, and finally, Evenfall Hall of House Tarth.

"Lord Selwyn," Adam greeted the Evenstar politely. "You know Edric Storm?"

"Yes, I do," Selwyn flustered, for this was the acknowledged bastard of the king all the same. "How are you, boy?"

"And this must be your daughter," Adam swept over to Brienne, who immediately looked hurt that he seemed not to remember her. "I danced with you at my coming of age tour?"

Her relief was palpable. "Yes, my lord Renly.

"Good," Adam smiled, looking out at the sapphire waters beyond. "Your island is a beautiful home. Much better than hearing the storm batter against the walls."

"Your castle has never fallen," Brienne pointed out, flushing all the same at her father's quick look.

"If only," Adam joked. "Then perhaps we could rebuild it to look nicer."

Clara/MARGAERY

Clara found Willas in the stables, and when he turned to her, she was reminded of why he could no longer ride.

"Margaery," his eyes crinkled as though he was a wiser older brother, and she found that both reassuring and puzzling. "Has grandmama let you go for the day?"

"I hope," Clara retorted, and he frowned at that. In her green silks and slippers, she ran her hand over one of the horses, jumping when it neighed and biting her tongue so hard it bled.

Willas was too kindly to laugh but the mirth was in his eyes all the same.

"What?" Clara's face flushed, and she turned from him such that she might be remedied by the fields of the Reach splayed out like plantations that needed ripe corn picked.

Max/SAM

Max saw his father's eyes narrow as he came in from his ride, and at every dinner he could feel the well of impatience grow and grow. Sam might be fat and merry and unconcerned, but Max was on edge not to get on this hardass' bad side before he got sent to the Wall.

At night he would sneak out and train in the yard, not uncommon for knights to take out their lust and rage if spurned by a lady or losing at cards. For all he swung his sword his shoulder muscles ached; and when he tried press ups or doing weights with barrels, his whole body shook until he fell into the hay in slumber and awoke the next morning to glimpse horses being led out of their stalls.

He pushed himself as hard as he dared, knowing food was his big weakness in this life as it was in reality, and slowly but surely if not physical changes were immediate, his confidence in himself grew.

He was still too ungainly to comfortably sit a horse, but he began training against the master at arms. He was a big target and took the hits wincing, but never backed down, and once caught a glimpse of his father crossing the yard, with Dickon suited up for another hunting errand.

"Give me a horse," Max ordered, and took one pulling a cart of ale into the kitchens. It was not properly saddled and the beast groaned under his weight, but he kneed it in the shins and headed out all the same, to the surprise of many who had seen such a change overcome him all of a sudden.

Grace/ARYA

In the yard of Winterfell, Ned was meeting with some northern lord, while Robb and Jon and Theon were going riding into the woods. Bran was chasing Rickon, and Grace found Catelyn and Sansa in the hall breaking their fast.

"Arya," Catelyn's face broke into a genuine smile, glancing up to Septa Mordane who had a proud twinkle in her eye. "What's brought this on?"

"I wanted to be a lady," Grace replied, and Sansa sat puzzled at such an about face from the dirty ragtag she had pinned her sister to be.

"You need some work," Sansa pointed out, even as her mother hushed her and Septa Mordane glared at her, but Grace all the same seated herself by her older sister, and took a trencher piled high.

Zoe/LYSA

Zoe was led to the small council chambers, where by now Robert was moaning and sickly and holding her hand for she could not stand the citizenry of King's Landing watch her carry a six year old like a bag of oats through the city.

Two guards flanked the doors; neither of them Kingsguard, which told her Robert was not in.

"Well?" Zoe lifted an eyebrow. "I'm wife to the Hand of the King."

Both exchanged glances; she wasn't wrong, but what was she doing here?

"Very well, my lady," slightly grudging to interrupt what surely was important business, the guards knocked on the door and opened the double doors to permit her entry.

As usual the king's chair was empty, but Jon Arryn presided over the meeting nonetheless. His surprise to see her was plain on his face; while Varys simpered over her unexpected arrival, and Littlefinger stroked his beard. Pycelle and Stannis watched from their seats.

"Lysa," Jon frowned to see Zoe leading Robert by the hand. "Surely the boy should be in bed?"

Zoe realised this was hardly the time, and bringing the boy would undermine her position. A servant trailed after her and she nodded and took Robert out, who wailed for his mother.

"I'll wait," Zoe nodded, boldly taking the king's chair. Littlefinger had to laugh at that; Stannis grinded his teeth and Varys simpered but Pycelle muttered and Jon Arryn remained perplexed. "Carry on."

"Lysa," Jon repeated. "What is the meaning of this?"

"I'm your wife," Zoe sharply reminded him, her anger flaring up. "What's your business is my business."

"The king's business," Pycelle interjected fraily, and Zoe turned a glare on him.

"Enough," Stannis called to the room, turning to Lysa. "If you would join us at least relinquish my brother's chair."

Chastened, Zoe took the chair Varys offered who remained standing, with a little grin to Littlefinger. Zoe looked round at the table of men and knew she could do better.

"So?" Zoe acquisitioned. "Building more sewers and better drainage for the people?"

"Not with the crown debt so high," Petyr chuckled. "Only from borrowing from the Iron Bank could do us any good… "

"You know Lord Tywin will be of help in this regard," Pycelle interceded.

"The crown already owes enough to Lord Tywin," Stannis spoke up.

"Stick with your ships, and I'll stick to coin, that's how the game is played, my lord," Petyr mocked, as Stannis grew red at that.

"Is this all you do?" Zoe blurted out. "What about running the kingdom?"

Petyr looked askance at her, such that she should have such a change of heart over her otherwise fretful, clingy behaviour; she had walked into the room like she owned it.

"What would you propose?" Jon asked, not meaning to put her on the spot and embarrass her; but she had stuck her head out for the hunter, and his was a bitter marriage.

"Why don't we see these books of yours," Zoe turned to Petyr, whose beetle eyes glanced to her with a shine like a cockroach's back. "There must be some way the crown's income is paying off its debts."

"With all the tournaments and gifts held for His Grace's favor," Petyr spread his arms wide, trying to work out what exactly Lysa was trying to accomplish here by upstaging him in front of his lessers. "There is little left to command more than repayment of the interest."

"Then you aren't a good master of coin," Zoe told him shortly, and he grew purple with the sudden rebuke, as though he was a boy again, and she turned to Stannis. "Don't you counsel your brother? Surely you don't build ships all day. You must convince him not to be beholden to his vices."

Even Varys had to twitter at that. "My sweet Lady Lysa - "

"Don't call me sweet," Zoe rebuked, and none could doubt it.

"The king is set in his ways," Varys offered his advice as solicitously as he could, glancing around at the room who were in no disagreement about Robert's whoring and wine. "The man who orders the king what to do finds himself absent a head."

Zoe turned to her husband, the Hand who commanded the realm in the king's absence. She wanted so sorely to tell him what to do; but a man as old as he, who had been married to Lysa for so long, and had some small competency in governing small councils, was not blind to the rebuke he saw so about to pass through her lips.

"Petyr, you will find the figures that the representative will meet with the Iron Bank. I am not convinced Lord Tywin needs to be involved in this early stage... "

Zoe felt her power fall through her fingers, as the men gathered their things and bowed to her, all but her husband who remained once Pycelle had at last wandered out of the room.

"Was it your intention to upstage me?" Jon Arryn fixed Zoe with a curt glare, one full of meaning which spouses who have always disagreed will find the hole in the rug to pull apart.

"No," Zoe spluttered, aware she had made it look so. "I'm not going to sit around with my sewing; I want a say in things."

"Then start by acting as my wife," Jon Arryn grit his teeth, and she could smell the sour of his breath as he stormed out of the room, leaving her alone with her dastardly thoughts.

Adam/RENLY

Adam rode into the capital, having finished his lord's progress around the stormlands, particularly pleased to meet Brienne, who fit his ideal of knight, chivalry and all.

The stink was permeating, but he managed to hold in his breath until he reached the Red Keep, which didn't help at all but for the increased security; guards along the perimeter and the Kingsguard in their white, as Robert dismounted from the hunt he had just been out.

"Renly!" his manner was at least visibly cheerful, if not from the kill hanging off his horse in bloodied throes. The king was fat but his grip was strong on Adam's shoulder. "Let's have us a feast."

Clara/MARGAERY

Clara went riding through the woods, with no less an escort than Megga, Alla and Elinor, and several minor ladies along with a dozen Tyrell guards, fanciful in flight with their golden rose colours over green, and where they went birds scattered from nooks amid the fields of gold roses stretching as far as the eye could see.

Garlan was training and Loras had gone to King's Landing, so Clara took this ride alone, though her mind dwelt on her "parents", lorded over by Olenna at Highgarden. She had sat next to fat, affable Mace with his jolly jowls, and nice enough Alerie with a straight back and a kindly demeanor, but Olenna with her sharp tongue ruled them all.

Even her, Clara was bitter to admit, the old lady knew just to where to press her buttons. Even as Margaery, Clara had displayed outwardly ignorant responses to Olenna's suggestion that Loras push Renly to invite her to court, and be displayed before the king.

"He won't put aside his queen for me," Clara had spat. "Besides, Renly's not smart enough to convince the king. Until then, leave me alone."

So consumed in her fury was that she didn't notice the branch that scratched against her gown, parting the fabric and leaving a faint line of blood, until she reined in her horse and slipped from her saddle, landing on the hard ground.

"My lady!" shocked cries came about, as Clara's vision grew cloudy, and all she remembered was holding onto the back of a guardsmen and the scent of fire plums.

Max/SAM

Max rode after his departing father and brother, and what few retainers they had brought with them to carry any game they collected along the way. The woods surrounding Horn Hill were thick and full of foliage; by the time Max caught up with them, he was puffing more than his horse, and came upon a pond where his father glanced up, frowning while Dickon looked eagerly at the size of the beast his father had felled.

"What do you think you're doing here," Randyll cut an imposing figure, as Dickon handed his bow back to a retainer who slid back among the horses.

Max dismounted not easily, stomping over to his father and Dickon, where the stag lay barely breathing, the quarrel through its side sunk deep.

"Nice," Max commented, standing taller than his brother but not by Randyll.

"Did your mother call to get me?" Randyll said harshly.

"Nah," Max saw the hunting knife in Dickon's hands. "Give it here."

Chastened by his older brother's sudden change of heart, Dickon handed over the knife, and Max without a second forward slit the poor beast's throat. Even as it struggled, blood splattered on him and he held it there, his doublet drenched in blood.

"Well?" Max hefted the beast and put it on Dickon's horse. "There's your trophy."

Grace/ARYA

"What is she doing here?" Jeyne sneered, sitting beside Sansa as Grace took her place and picked up her embroidery, already the flush of shame and hurt crossing her face.

"She's trying to be a lady," Sansa pointed out, not dismissing her efforts, but far too little too late. She herself had been humiliated by Arya and found it all to be a ruse.

Grace sat to one side with only Septa Mordane for company as she reviewed the girls' handiwork, and if Arya was poor at embroidery, Grace couldn't add her own skills into the mix. But she tried and tried and wept a little when she saw Jeyne's smirk and Sansa's baleful, doubtful glance until Septa Mordane placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Ignore them," the septa said. "You keep trying and I'll tell your mother how good of a little lady you were today."

Zoe/LYSA

"He must have it administered often, my lady," maester Colemon repeated, in his chambers where Robert was tucked in for his afternoon nap.

Zoe fretted for this boy she wanted to man up could use his illness as an excuse to stay in bed all day. God forbid even should he be cured that he have depression to take the mantle next.

"Watch him," Zoe ordered.

Maester Colemon nodded feebly, glad that Lysa was taking a more active charge in her son. She was otherwise prone to coddling and spoiling him and never giving him a moment's chance to breathe away from her all encompassing persona.

Zoe headed down the corridor, the wife of the Hand at all times escorted by a couple of House Arryn guards and the occasional ladies maid or two, when she came upon a younger Robert with the stag emblazoned on his doublet.

"Lady Lysa," Renly took a deep bow, and Zoe knew it to be him; she had been there when he picked it.

"Er, my lord," Zoe repeated, forgetting his character's name for a second. Adam let it pass. "What are you doing here?"

"I am on the king's business, as master of laws, of course," Adam reminded her, so as not to give up the jig that either of them were imposters.

"Right," Zoe considered, remembering the last small council meeting at which there was one seat empty. "I'll leave you to it then."

"Let's have a feast together, sometime," he called.

Adam/RENLY

Chastened by Zoe's sudden departure, Adam hoped it wouldn't be too suspicious, his suddenly friendly nature to an otherwise starkly unfriendly woman, at least to the residents of the capital. Yet Renly was known to be gay, so surely no scandal could pass their lips.

He found his way to the small council chamber, where the members were just gathering, and Lord Arryn presided over the meeting, leaving the king's chair empty.

"Lord Renly," Jon Arryn made note of his appearance.

"How are things in Storm's End?" Varys came to his side. "I hear the boy Edric caused a stir during your lord's progress."

"Yes," Adam instantly felt uneasy at the reminder that Varys heard many whispers, and a sly smile appeared on the eunuch's face. "He's well mannered enough."

"You should bring him to the capital sometime," Littlefinger mocked, his plum doublet quite a stir itself.

"Bastards in the capital?" Pycelle was affronted.

"Edric Storm is the king's acknowledged bastard," Petyr pointed out. "You were there, weren't you Lord Stannis?"

"Enough of this nonsense," Stannis thundered, for the insult Robert had paid him. He turned to Jon Arryn. "Will your wife be joining us?"

"No," Jon Arryn replied at once. "Let us begin."

Clara/MARGAERY

Clara sat in maester Lomys' chambers as he attended to her small wounds. She had some scratches and a bruise, and had felt light headed after crashing, but after all was said and done she would likely make a full recovery.

"Thanks," Clara drank a small dose of sweet sleep.

Her parents and brothers but for Loras had been in to wish her well, and her grandmother now stood nearby, with Erryk and Arryk at the door to ensure no one bothered them.

"What?" Clara demanded, as Olenna sucked in a sharp breath.

"That won't do wonder for your looks," Olenna reprimanded, her cane whacking the floor as she stormed out of the room.

"Can I go now?" Clara asked the maester, feeling like a schoolgirl with a stomach ache.

"Lomys!" Olenna called, from within the confines of the corridor. "I want a word."

The maester hurried off, while Clara glanced at the sunshine through the window panes, winking on the liquids in the little jars. An idea began to grow like a sweet smelling rose.

Max/SAM

Max was back in the kitchens, but held the chicken by the neck with one hand and swung the cleaver down with the other.

His mother grimaced to see her Sam so like her husband in many ways; she treasured the intimate chats and time she spent with her firstborn son, compared to Dickon who satisfied her husband's idea of an heir. Sam was soft and liked music and enjoyed her company.

Max handed the chicken to the chef and nodded carefree to his mother as he came out into the yard, a light rain falling as soldier's steel clashed against one another, squires sifted chainmail in sand lest rust set in, and horses whickered in their stables for more oats.

He was beginning to lose weight, and the puffy roundness of his double chin was no longer beginning to sag. His body grew definition, though it was hidden by the layers of fat which remained. He had gone on other hunting trips with his father and brother, and if he did not shy away from killing game, it was only his weight which held him back from being an otherwise more proficient rider and marksman with the bow.

"Samwell," his father's voice broke out across the yard.

Max noticed his bald father making his way down the steps to where his master at arms joined him.

"Where's Dickon?" Max challenged, for though the boy was plenty martial as most his age, he spent most of his time with his father who wanted to ensure he wouldn't turn out like Sam.

"With the maester, learning his figures," Randyll remarked dryly. He had been surprised by the sudden change in Sam; yet there was still plenty of work to be done. Because he was not certain of what caused his son's change of heart, he would not stake a huntsman's arrow on it.

"I want you to spar against Ser Hyle," Randyll glanced to the boy, with a crooked nose and shoulders tensed.

Max drew the sword that had long since been gathering dust while Sam had been frittering with soft fabrics. Ser Hyle drew his own, and though he had long known Sam as a coward weakling, this emerging courage in him was worrying in a fight.

Ser Hyle did not want to let down his liege, however; and so he leapt forward with a cry, and Max could not parry or dodge without exhausting himself too quickly. His sword met Ser Hyle's, and he grabbed a fistful of dirt and tossed it into the knight's face.

Spluttering, Max kicked the legs from under Ser Hyle and held the sword to his neck.

"Yield," came his curt reply.

At this, some of the crowd clapped, to see Max's emerging confidence in himself, and clear display of his skills. Randyll only looked displeased that these talents had not shown in his son much sooner, and thought of a letter in his chambers worth burning.

Grace/ARYA

Grace watched Robb and Theon spar, arms folded for Sansa and Jeyne had gone riding and not invited her. In her drab grey grown and braids she was pretty, but not even as pretty as Jeyne, and certainly not Sansa. When Jeyne collected her horse, she heard comment as far as "... face" and giggling and flushed as their horses clip-clopped out of the gates of Winterfell.

"How are you holding up?" Jon asked, surprising her by coming to her side.

"I'm fine," Grace sniffed. In truth, she felt trying to be Sansa's perfect little sister was too much trouble; in Sansa's eyes, she was still that girl who ran around with dirt on her face, smearing Sansa's gown. Grace had had less than a year; too short for Sansa to trust not to be hurt or teased.

"Arya," her septa called, and Grace gave a quick smile to Jon Snow, who himself was perplexed as to why she would try so hard to get in Sansa's graces.

Grace ran to her septa, who bade she follow up to the household chambers. In Grace's room, her mother rose from the bed, holding out a dress of Tully blue.

"These are not Stark colours, but since you have tried to be a lady, you might try this on," Catelyn smiled warmly, liking the change in Arya, though only tenderly as a mother's concern only went so far; she was unable to puzzle out what caused her to switch.

"Thanks," Grace brightened, with her septa helping her to change into the dress.

Zoe/LYSA

"My lady," a servant called, in the chambers Zoe occupied as part of the Tower of the Hand, while Jon Arryn sat the Iron Throne while the king was out hunting. "Lord Renly is here to see you."

Zoe rose to greet Adam, who wore Renly's fine fabrics with no shame, and bowed elaborately to maintain the ruse. Further within the rooms a large table was set for two, and wine was poured along as the two took their seats.

Once they were alone in the room, Zoe began,

"So, what should I know?"

Adam held a finger to his lips, cautioning silence. Zoe froze instinctively, trusting in this case where he knew all the lore, that she might be in danger. He reached for a scrap of parchment, and using the quill and inkpot passed her a message shortly after.

"Alright," Zoe glanced to the fireplace, not lit for the summer heat was strong these days, wondering who might be listening. She got herself her own piece of parchment, and began writing as did he in response, and soon only the sounds of scratching quills could be heard:

"Robert's weak and Jon won't let me sit in on small council meetings."

"Have you talked to Jon?"

"There's too much love lost. Littlefinger thinks I'm crazy for upstaging him."

"He's always got another step planned. You have to be careful."

"I'm thinking of bringing Robert to Winterfell, to be the Starks' ward."

"Have you asked Jon? He'll want the boy for Stannis, when they start looking for Robert's bastards."

"Stannis is too grim," Zoe wrote. "Besides, I want to see Grace."

"Then you'd be best traveling by ship," Adam wrote back. "The kingsroad will take long and your son might not make it."

Zoe set her parchment aside to let Adam know the discussion was at an end. When he rose from her table and headed out, to the curtsies of servants in the outer chamber and nods of Arryn guards flanking the entrance itself, she vaguely thought that if anybody had been listening, the silence might very well be more damning than any word spoken.

Adam/RENLY

Adam entered the chambers which were set aside in the Red Keep for him, and maintained by Brella of the servants and guards who roamed his apartments.

Inside his bedchamber he found Loras, his brown curls and rose studded doublet a sudden sight; the scent of roses as he met Adam's lips with his own, a succor and a taste of home.

Afterward, Adam lay with Loras in the bed, quite otherwise spent. His hand rested in the curls of Loras' head who stroked Adam's chest, sparse with body hair.

"My grandmother gave me a reminder," Loras smiled.

"Margaery?" Adam prompted.

Loras lay a bevy of kisses on Adam's shoulder and fetched a locket from the side table. He flicked it open and a small picture of Margaery, or Clara, met his eyes. It was clearly taken before Clara - grim faced and hating to smile - had sat for the portrait.

Clara/MARGAERY

At the feast laid for dinner, Clara sat beside her mother and watched the servants bring the trays in.

"Will you go riding, again, sweetling?" Alerie asked, accepting her goblet to be filled with wine.

"Maybe," Clara admitted, the bruise having welled down somewhat, her eyes following the lemon cakes brought round. A servant plucked the biggest one and headed past her to Olenna, who sat to Mace's either side.

"Hold on," Clara called out. "I want that one."

"Ridiculous," Olenna snorted. "Boy, pass the treat to me."

Though he blushed at Clara's beauty, he was more inclined to obey her grandmother. He bowed in apology as he proffered the lemon cake and Clara sat in silence as her mother laid a hand on her arm.

"Willas says you've been distant," Alerie peered at her daughter. "Would you like to talk?"

Clara looked up at her "mother" and thought how profoundly she needed to hear those words, rather than criticism or feeling shut out. She nodded her head and kept quiet for the rest of the meal, glad someone had asked the question she needed to hear.

Max/SAM

By now Max was only as tubby as he was in real life, with a small gut and biceps that grew definition. He sparred regularly, which wasn't to say he won all his fights, but the grit and determination if not to succeed then by virtue of his regularly enjoying the manly sports spurred him on.

He hunted more often with his father, who had to teach him how to track, and Dickon, who took him aside to help him practice with the bow.

At meals, he ate sparingly, knowing his gluttony would tip him over the edge. To his mother and sisters he remained as cordial to strangers; under Randyll's gaze there were more or less frightened into silence or whispers, and his mother he could tell missed the days of his close company.

"Sam," Randyll interrupted Max and Dickon who were sparring in the yard. "Follow me."

Max sheathed his sword in the rack, sporting bruises but so did Dickon. Upstairs he followed his father into the maester's chambers, who closed a book as he turned with a smile, and bade he sit with a bow to Randyll. "My lord."

"Sit," Randyll ordered, and lay upon the desk a map the maester had procured, which focused on the Reach. "Name the strongholds and the Houses who hold them, their sigils and their words. Notable bannermen and knights sworn to our liege lord. Tell me of the lay of the land, natural defenses and battles waged in the past by our ancestors."

Max grew steadily redder as his father realised that for all his supposed book learning instead of hunting, he had managed to swap one set of attributes for the other.

"Then learn," Randyll stormed out, feeling cheated that for all the years in which Sam had spent in the library, that it was spent hiding from his duty than at least learning something.

Grace/ARYA

"Your aunt Lysa is visiting Winterfell," Catelyn read the missive to Sansa and Grace, who sat in her chambers after dinner. Her mother frowned. "Strange that she would bring Robert in his condition… "

"What condition?" Grace asked, forgetting entirely what was the point of this simulation, to remain covert in another's body.

"He has the shaking sickness," Sansa replied, who had somewhat thawed.

Zoe/LYSA

Zoe set off by ship from the harbor of King's Landing, headed first for Gulltown to replenish supplies and then on to White Harbor. She and Robert would share a cabin along with a wet nurse and maester Colemon, who although his duty was to Lord Arryn, he was reminded that keeping Jon's only son well was of importance.

Zoe left the room and its sickly air of fever with her son crying for his mother, wrapped in the arms of his wet nurse to get a breath of fresh air and grip the ship's edge to look out at the pale beyond, as the ship veered through Blackwater Bay.

A handful of Arryn guards accompanied them; more would be picked up in Gulltown.

Jon had not been sad to see her go; though he was wistful that his son go along with her, at least in this regard he would be with his mother. He certainly had no time for his son with his duties as Hand pressing upon him.

En route to the docks, Zoe had been approached by a boy with a dirt smeared face who had begged her leave, and she was intrigued when he mentioned a mockingbird. She had sent the maester ahead with little Robert and found Petyr in a grove of gardens, holding out a gift of a wooden rocking horse for her son.

"Thanks," Zoe said tersely, but knowing it was all a farce lest spies were watching.

"This was not part of the plan," Petyr's smile remained on his face even as he rebuked her. "What if Robert's health fails him?"

"I'm bringing the maester," Zoe replied just as coolly.

"You will need to be in the capital once I set our plans in motion," Petyr reminded her.

"I'll be back before then," Zoe replied, gathering that there was still time for Stannis and her husband's investigation to proceed. "I'm not much use here until then."

"I've been waiting so long, don't you remember?" Petyr looked at her with something akin to fascination in his eyes, which she knew was neither love nor lust, only the acquisition of a _cyvasse_ piece. "When you return, it'll already be in motion."

Zoe glanced around at the Arryn soldiers in their blue and silver falconry, and the sailors who pulled the hulls. She got the creeping impulse that anyone of them could be a spy not just sent by Petyr.

Adam/RENLY

"Loras?" Adam opened his eyes, so content with the deep sleep he had not had in his real life for so long; always alert and suspicious that the sight of Loras lacing his breeches as though he had important things to do was incongruous with his laissez faire lifestyle.

"The servant delivered a raven while you were still sleeping," Loras was bitter, but for reasons not intentionally directed at Adam as he was about to find out. "My grandmother passed in her sleep."

"What?" Adam didn't react just based on the passing of _Renly_ 's beloved's grandmother, but for the sudden implications that this meant. Olenna was too canny to simply die in her sleep, and Loras looked at him strangely. "A natural death?"

"You can't think foul play," Loras replied, still saddened by the affair. "She was getting up there in age… "

"But -" Adam tried to gather his thoughts. "When's the funeral?"

"In a fortnight," the suddenness of it all made Loras sit down on the bed, and Adam made to move closer, his hand on Loras' shoulders, who nuzzled it so. "All the Reach will be gathering, especially the Redwynes."

"I'll tell the king," Adam promised. "Your grandmother was a strong woman."

"Why now?" Loras looked pained. Adam was never good at reassuring, though.

Clara/MARGAERY

The sept at Highgarden was large and pretty enough to pay compliment to Lady Olenna, the Queen of Thorns as the king and lords of the Reach and sundry filed in.

Clara wore black alongside her mother, gravely greeting those who entered to pay their respects.

The king was fat and his queen beautiful, but there was no love between them, as they sat in the front pew, joined by Mace who was now certainly lord with no one to badger him beside his otherwise companionable wife.

On the other side of the pew sat the Redwynes; Lord Paxter was nephew to the late Olenna, and brought his wife Mina and children Horas, Hobber and Desmera.

Once the service had finished, there was a meal to be held for all in the hall where all filed in. Clara caught sight of the bald head of Randyll Tarly, who brought his wife and daughters, but prominent was the noticeably slimmer Sam and his brother.

With Megga, Elinor and Alla her ladies and friends in times such as these where surely she should seek comfort, Clara could not simply saunter over to the son of her father's bannermen and entertain his company. Nor could she do the same to Renly, who had entered beside Loras and watched her curiously, like one looks up at a pleasing statue.

Clara heard the clank on cobblestones and thought with a fright that Olenna had returned; but Willas was limping towards her, with a tired sad smile on his face, and hugged her as best he could.

Max/SAM

Max caught sight of Clara, and found it hard not be turned on by Margaery at least. But when he saw that her expression was not the decorous one he knew, he could tell it was his sister peering back at him through those brown eyes.

He left his father's side and walked over to Lady Tyrell, whose name he did not know.

"Sorry for your loss," Max managed, even though he didn't care.

"You are kind," Alerie was touched that he would offer his condolences; he who had been large like her husband and courteous; now looked as though his martinet father had rather whipped him into the heir he desired so. "You know my daughter, Lady Margaery?"

"Hi," Clara blinked, remembering Margaery's courtesies. "Samwell Tarly."

"Lady Margaery," Max could scarce conceal a grin, at the farce they were conducting. Clara's scowl remained a moue of disapproval that Max could not hold it in.

"Enjoy the feast," Clara raised her eyebrows, almost mockingly and took her place on the high table, looking down on the lords bannermen her father had invited for his mother's funeral.

Adam/RENLY

As the feast began to die down, Adam approached Max who was flirting with one of the serving wenches.

"Samwell Tarly," Adam gave a little nod, that the procession might begin.

"Lord Renly," Max pointed out, and they moved their conversation a bit quieter. "What do you think?"

Adam glanced to Clara who was surrounded by her family; affable Mace and kindly Alerie, wistful Willas and gallant Garlan and beautiful Loras.

"I don't know," Adam replied.

Randyll Tarly came into sight, with his strong build and disapproving moue.

"Lord Tarly," Adam bowed all the same, as he received a nod in return. He gathered all his wits lest this look like an improbable gathering. "I hear good things about your son, even in the stormlands."

"Do you?" Randyll glanced to his wife, ensconced in conversation with Mina Redwyne. He made a move to leave. "Samwell, get your mother."

"Lord Tarly," Adam interrupted his departure, and Max held back, curious to know what was going to be said. "I'd like to speak with you about Sam. From his emerging talent, I'd like you to consider him being my squire."

"Samwell is almost a man grown," if Randyll Tarly was surprised by the offer, he didn't show it. "His master at arms and maester are tending to what he failed to learn in his early years. He needs to be home and learn this with what time he has left."

"I'm sure he'll have many years under you to do so, Lord Tarly," Adam said, trying to delicately remind the man that he wasn't exactly as old as Olenna to suddenly perish. "But Sam is yet to be knighted, isn't that correct?"

Randyll's eyes darted from Adam to Max, not denying this. A knighthood bestowed upon by Lord Paramount Renly Baratheon of Storm's End and the stormlands and the king's brother besides was a great honor indeed. Yet the slightly disdainful look he gave Adam confirmed his fears.

"I'll think about it," Randyll gave his answer in his choice of words, and Adam was dismayed that he had failed for a second time in as many simulations to convince the strong-willed Tarly lord to bend. From afar, meek Melessa gathered her daughters, aware of her husband's darkening mood as only a wife in long matrimony can manage.

Zoe/LYSA

Zoe docked at White Harbor, not more than a month since leaving King's Landing, and only longer than planned due to stopping in Gulltown for supplies and Arryn guards.

Some nights Robert had been sicker than others; and Zoe blamed herself if anything should happen, for though this was merely a simulation, she would be robbing her husband of an heir if his son should die in her care.

Still, the fresh air aboard the ship seemed to help him somewhat, and away from the stench which pervaded the capital.

Lord Wyman Manderley greeted Zoe and her entourage at the docks, honored by the visit of the Hand's wife, and of close relation to his liege's wife, Catelyn Tully Stark.

"Could we rest here a night?" Zoe asked tersely, not wanting to waste time as Lord Manderley chins wobbled in assent. She could breathe free in the northern air, from the stink of the capital and of the cabins where her boy had been sickly, even if there was fish strung up to dry along the docks.

Grace/ARYA

Grace stood by her sister Sansa, where Catelyn was taller than them both, proudly looking forward to the visit expected to receive her sister Lysa and nephew Robert.

In came the horses; a dozen Arryn guards and just as many retainers and servants. Grace watched as her aunt Lysa rode in, with little Robert brought in a carriage with his maester close by. As her aunt dismounted, Grace thought that Zoe shared some similarities.

With her auburn hair and lined face, Zoe could not erase the worry and stress that had wreaked havoc on Lysa's skin. Still, the Tully blue and Arryn silver she wore was of fabric and jewels to suit the Lady of the Eyrie. She greeted Ned first before moving to his wife.

"Lysa," Catelyn kissed her cheek, and Zoe wished she looked more like her sister. "These are my daughters - your nieces - Sansa and Arya."

"Aunt Lysa," Sansa curtsied prettily, as beautiful as a sunset.

"Auntie," Grace curtsied, not knowing how to treat Zoe as though she was an aunt.

"Please, come this way and I'll show you where you're staying," Catelyn led Zoe across the yard.

Grace watched as sickly Robert emerged from the carriage, with his maester in tow. He was clutching a wooden horse and whined weakly to see his mother being led away, and with an impulsive pang of dislike Grace hoped she never had children who came out like that!

Clara/MARGAERY

Clara was told by her septa that it was now the correct time to come out of mourning, so she put aside her black gowns and reverted back to the colourful menagerie of dresses and hairnets so that she might go riding again.

Olenna's absence could be felt everywhere; her father certainly felt like a weight had lifted off his shoulders even if in his silent grief he did not realise it; her mother no longer had the criticisms and quips to deal with, even if she was kindly even to forgive her for it; and Willas' eyes would never again shine in the light of her admiration for him.

Even Erryk and Arryk who had been her grandmother's flanking guards had at first offered their services to her mother who neither needed nor wanted such attention; and they had respectfully asked to escort Clara around in lieu of her late grandmother wishing it so.

Clara didn't mind the extra guards, and they knew to be silent as only they could be trained out of necessity in all their years following Olenna.

Her father was attentive to her and made sure she was ok, while her mother put aside time to listen; Clara tried to voice her concerns like Margaery might, but she knew nothing of the Tyrell rose. This wasn't her real mother; this was Margaery's mother. And besides, they were in mourning for an old bat who had only poked and prodded.

Clara spent time riding with Erryk and Arryk flanking her, and her cousins Megga, Alla and Elinor following her. She had no great desire to see Max at Horn Hill, not that Margaery's reputation would allow that; and while Adam might hold most of the answers to Westeros' future, she admitted that the Tyrells were a family she needed.

Max/SAM

"The maester tells me you have no head for numbers nor facts," Randyll told Max, who was vaguely muscled and a surefire bet away from the likes of Sam Tarly. "Yet there is no doubt you have aspired to break away from the mold of your former days."

"Yeah," Max knew that would be all as praise from this hard father. "So I'm back in your good graces, then?"

"You will travel with me to the Arbor," Randyll's face didn't move an inch. "You were the cause of humiliation on our last trip."

Max traveled with his father from Horn Hill to Oldtown, where once Sam hoped to be a maester. Upon the _Arbor Queen_ they set sail, with a dozen retainers across the Redwyne Straits.

Grace/ARYA

"How you finding life here?" Zoe asked, spending time with Grace while Sansa and Jeyne watched from afar, with puzzlement why her aunt should prefer the younger sister so.

"It's alright," Grace shrugged. "Sansa doesn't like me very much."

"She's jealous," Zoe stuck by her assessment. "Tell you what. I'm planning on leaving soon. How about you come with me to King's Landing?"

"King's Landing?" Grace asked. "Isn't it dangerous there?"

"Sansa will be upset," Zoe cast a glance to the pretty girl who resembled her mother. "Besides, there's not long left. What's to lose?"

Zoe/LYSA

"Are you certain?" Catelyn asked, sitting beside her husband in his chambers, with Zoe sitting opposite.

"He needs a firmer hand than I can give," Zoe replied. "The north will harden him."

"What about his shaking fits?" Ned asked.

"My maester will provide what sweetsleep he has in his stores, and sent for more from Gulltown," Zoe replied.

"But the boy will miss you terribly," Catelyn glanced to Ned then back to Zoe. "Not that we aren't glad to raise him, of course."

"I'd like to take Arya to court as my handmaid," Zoe said tersely. "She shows promise and will enjoy the southern climates."

"I would miss either of my daughters," Catelyn replied. "But surely Sansa is the better fit?"

"No," Zoe replied stubbornly. "Sansa is already aware of how to be a lady. Arya needs a bit more polish."

"If you say so," Catelyn's face darkened, for losing her child was a blow she would have to suffer. Sansa would detest that her younger sister was chosen over her.

"It is an honor, Lysa," Ned repeated, to help calm his wife's nerves. "We will look after Robert and know Arya is safe in your hands."

"Perhaps the two might be betrothed someday," Zoe joked, and Ned and Catelyn glanced at one another bleakly. "I'm kidding, of course."

Adam/RENLY

Adam had hoped to foster Max as his ward and squire, even though he was nearing manhood and Max himself already knew how to fight like a gutter bastard, but the insult still smarted.

En route back to Storm's End, Loras decided to stay at Highgarden, so Adam met Ser Cortnay in the yard, grateful for his household and dismounting to bath and change for the dinner feast.

"I'd like to entertain the lords and bannermen of the stormlands," Adam told Ser Cortnay, during the dinner feast where young Edric was also present. "Can our stores and servants supply us for such an occasion?"

Clara/MARGAERY

Clara spent time with her father as he spent his time in meetings with his councillors and bannermen when they visited, learning from him his particular style of leadership and how he governed in Highgarden and how that flowed to the Reach.

Her mother Alerie could do needle point and direct the cook and servants and ensured her children had all they needed, if they were still feeling raw from the loss of their grandmother. From her, Clara saw that the kindness of a mother was a valuable treasure indeed; to be listened to and heard, and how compassion towards your children was hard, but a worthy road to follow, instilling them with values for the future.

With Willas, Clara saw how he reared his hawks, hounds and horses, and that he was a learned scholar in lieu of being the knight that Garlan or Loras was. Clara couldn't pick up a sword in Margaery's delicate body and expect to win battles anytime soon, but Willas' mind was honed and there was some power in that, too.

Garlan was handsome, but well wed, and she was no _Cersei_ , she shuddered to think.

Loras had stayed behind after Olenna's funeral, to check on his family and ensure his sister, so alike him in appearance, was dealing with the loss of her beloved grandmother.

"I'm sick of hearing about it," Clara told him one day, when the two went riding alone together, Erryk and Arryk being left behind to spar or drink ale or seek some other livelihood than statues on either side of an archway. "She's dead, just stop talking to me about it."

Loras was perturbed that Margaery had changed from a shrewd mind hidden by sweetness. He could not fathom why she no longer confided in him.

"You're as obstinate as Renly," Loras asked grumpily, disliking that his sister was stubborn. "He's as slow as a mule in putting forth your graces to court."

"Why would I go there," Clara dared him with her bright eyes. She thought that this matter was closed. "Highgarden is my home."

"Father's always dreamed of you being queen," Loras told her, and Clara frowned. "When Cersei Lannister is put aside, the Reach will oppose any attempts Lord Tywin puts forth."

"No," Clara hoped her look put the matter to rest, kept the vines from crawling. She rode away with his glance at her back.

Max/SAM

"What's he doing here?" Horas asked his brother Hobber, watching as Max disembarked off the ship and entered the yard where the castle of House Redwyne was situated.

"Come on, you two," Max had picked up that the two had bullied Sam on his former trip here. He drew his sword and grinned cheekily for the bloodlust rising so quickly in him.

It was difficult but he was determined to win, and though he sported bruises himself, both lay flat on the yard. He panted like he had when he was fat.

"Good job, boy," Paxter clapped, for even as his heirs lay beaten, the emergence of Sam's courage had done him good. Besides, his twins rankled him when they fought about which of them would one day succeed him as Lord of the Arbor.

"A word?" Randyll beckoned, and Paxter followed him, even as it was his castle, knowing what must come next.

Grace/ARYA

After restocking at Gulltown, the ship sailed into Blackwater Bay and docked at the capital. Grace held her nose from the stench as she disembarked by Zoe's side, horses provided for them so they might ride through the city and up to the Red Keep, all the while flanked by Arryn soldiers.

"You can sleep with me," Zoe led her up to the Tower of the Hand, and ordered that a servant might prepare a bed in the adjacent chamber.

"Do you and him… " Grace wavered.

"No," Zoe was steadfast. Jon had the marital routine of an embittered husband; keep it within and explode when only necessary, to keep the damn peace.

"Thank you," Grace hugged Zoe, as a servant became part of her entourage. "I'll bathe and change and then I'll be ready."

Zoe/LYSA

"You didn't tell me," Jon said in a very quiet voice, after dinner had been conducted with the minimal pleasantries required, and Grace had been invited to sup with Myrcella instead.

"She's a Stark," Zoe continued, knowing the real issue at hand. "You fostered her father at the Eyrie."

"That is not the problem and you know it," Jon fixed her with a weary stare, all the same a falcon who had to always be right, Zoe thought bitterly. "Robert is my only son and heir. In the state he's in - "

"Maester Luwin knows his stuff," Zoe interjected, not wanting to lose the foothold of control in an argument. "He'll wisen up around the Stark boys and Ned's honored - "

Jon shook his head and Zoe watched him beadily, not wanting to suffer any loss of control.

"The king was the one to tell me," he replied bitterly. "He wanted to pass on his wishes and all I could do was gape like a Tully trout."

"Varys," Zoe said suddenly. "Or Littlefinger."

"I was humiliated in front of the royal court," Jon fixed her with an eye, so discerning like a falcon, his pate covered with age. "My own wife!"

Zoe knew there was a heavy burden on her; as Lysa, she had privy to many goings on of Jon's life that she herself was not aware of. Zoe had no particular bone to pick with Jon; if only that like most men he treated wives as not wholly equal to them. Yet she softened that he must suffer if anyone, a wife as incandescent as Lysa, a woman whose imprint on his memory was not any less removed by Zoe taking more command in the past months.

"It's nothing personal," Zoe replied, though that was the wrong thing to say. What was the truth to her, only opened up old wounds she could not hope to know of as only a new entrant to this marriage that had festered for so long.

"If our boy dies," Jon said in a quavering voice. "What can be said is left of our union?"

Adam/RENLY

With what time he spent at Storm's End, Adam had taken time to listen to his maester's counsel, learn of the state of affairs of the stormlands and how the granaries, surrounding farmlands and treasury was doing.

If less fanciful than otherwise and more frugal than Renly, there was too little in way of suspicion which might be raised as he toured the yard with Ser Cortnay and spent time with young Edric.

"... Lord Stark's youngest," came a voice he overheard somewhere to his right, and at the feast he had held for his lords bannermen of the stormlands, he beckoned the man closer.

His hair and beard were fire, and his manner quite forward, with muscles bulging. During his lord's progress, he had learned this man was of House Connington.

"Did you mention Lord Stark?" Adam inquired.

"Yes, my lord," Ronnet admitted. "The Lady Lysa has brought her to court."

Clara/MARGAERY

Clara was spending time in the kennels, pushing aside the dogs licking her face when she heard a cane and turned to see Willas, smiling gently down at her. She rose to brush the slobber from her face and dirt on her dress.

"Look at you," Willas chided.

"Olenna wouldn't like me like this," Clara joked, seeing the shadow that crossed his face. She regret her words instantly, and followed his glance.

Beyond them spread the land of Highgarden.

"Mother says you've been arguing with Loras," Willas turned to her. "Is everything alright?"

"Of course," Clara folded her arms, glancing away. She appreciated the interest, but didn't like it when people tried to dig too deep.

"When she died, so did a part of me," Willas admitted. "It is easy to be succored by the beauty around here."

Clara mused that he should spend less time musing.

"I should've asked how you were doing," Willas turned to her, pain stricken across his face.

"You asked me," Clara replied, wondering why the hell he cared.

"You can talk to me, you know," Willas placed a hand on her arm, but she shied away, and moved on.

Max/SAM

"It is settled, then," Paxter clapped Max on the back, surprising him after a hunt during which he had proved his mettle by bagging a couple of hare. The game had not been great, but the wine from the Arbor he lustily drank and sang with wenches proved he was more a man than Sam had been. "You will wed my daughter, Desmera."

A red haired girl with lots of freckles emerged from the kitchens, with her mother Mina in tow from instructing the servants. Desmera was prettily attired; not only that, but her dower would be plentiful given the Arbor's booming trade.

"When?" Max asked, watching the girl give him a shy smile and dart back to her mother's side.

"In the new year," Randyll begrudged. "At Horn Hill, of course."

Max's color drained. For all he had spent himself on whores, the excitement had been waning where concerned his personal intimacies. He longed to feel loved if not be loved, and a wife to take home and please his tires of the day would be welcome. Besides, Desmera was sure to be a virgin, and he liked breaking in new mares; no whorehouse could give him that!

"What about sooner," Max claimed, with a gruff laugh from Lord Paxter and a frown from his father.

"The date is set," Randyll reminded him harshly. "There are preparations to be made, none of which will be accomplished by your haste."

"You see my daughter's beauty," Paxter laid a hand on Max's arm reassuringly. "The ripe vintages of the Arbor take a while yet to ferment, young Tarly."

"Fuck," Max swore under his breath, as the Redwyne twins made to best him again, this time with more followers. He readied his sword, more than pumped to take them on.

Grace/ARYA

Grace was watched suspiciously by the queen as she sat with Princess Myrcella, in her garden at the Red Keep, but unless a snake crept through the grass, they were quite safe.

Afterwards, Grace made her way up to the Tower of the Hand, escorted by Ser Hugh of the Vale. Grace thought him ugly, but he had learned well from the Hand whom he squired for so he did not pester her, not that boys were prone to do anything but mock at her age.

"I'll leave you to your tidings," Ser Hugh bowed as they reached the final stair, and within the corridors where Arryn soldiers flanked the doors to the Hand's chambers, Grace thanked him and watched him go.

"Lady Arya," nodded one of the guards to either side of the door, while the other held it open for her.

Inside she went, finding it deserted but for the ruffle of parchment in the breeze. Upon a table, she saw a plate of lemon cakes, and gingerly took one to eat on the balcony so the crumbs wouldn't litter on the floor. Idly she forgot Zoe had servants for that now.

Zoe/LYSA

Zoe met Petyr in the same secret passageway where the original Arya once hid, filled with the dragon skulls the Targaryens once had in their throne room. He had ignored her offers to meet in the Tower of the Hand; instead, she came to him, shivering in the cold.

"Lysa," he said softly, emerging into the candlelight. His face was drawn and wary, as though seeing her for the first time.

"Littlefinger," Zoe tersely replied.

"For all our plans," Petyr lay his arms wide in a mocking gesture. "You do this!"

"Do what," Zoe answered dryly.

"You've upset everything!" Petyr's shout echoed around the cavernous walls. "You upstage me at the small council meeting. You send Robert as ward to Winterfell."

"Catelyn's my sister," Zoe pointed out, feeling strangely brave to this little man.

"This is not you," Petyr appraised her, but Zoe felt stronger than him, and knew more than he did. "This is not the Lysa I know and love."

"Please," Zoe snorted. "You don't love Lysa. You don't even love my sister."

In that moment, Petyr's eyes flashed and his smile once more became mocking, if anything to hide his sudden fear. He knew it wasn't Lysa, but who else could impersonate?

"Who am I, Petyr?" Zoe mocked, the thrill of being uncovered sending her adrenaline crazy. "You sad virgin fool."

Petyr drew a knife from his sleeve, but Zoe bent to grab the one taped to her boot, quick as a pirate.

Petyr leapt on top of her, and she smelled the mint on his breath as she punched him once, twice, and wondered if she only had strength she could do some serious damage. Their knives glinted silver in bare torchlight like gulls high above the Eyrie's peaks.

Petyr grit his teeth with the ecstacy of victory, the point of his dagger going further into her chest. Her breath felt sucked inward, and the blade dropped to the ground.

"Certainly not a Faceless Man, for such a struggle," Petyr prided himself on his skills, his ego inflating that he should have dealt with Brandon the same way, so many years ago. He watched her bleed into the ground, and did not hear the small figure behind until it was too late.

Adam/RENLY

Adam changed after the ride from Storm's End, and met the small council in their chambers. One chair remained empty throughout the session.

"Where's Lord Baelish?"

"None have heard from him," Varys simpered, rustling in his sleeves, as though he was a many limbed spider. "So curious, that they went missing at the same time."

"They?" Adam repeated in stunned confusion.

"My wife," Jon Arryn answered, staring Adam in the eye. He did not particularly want to share the details; but rather from him than the Spider once all was known. "The king has asked Ser Barristan to lead the search, in case Lord Janos' gold cloaks need to keep the citizens in check."

Adam thought rapidly on this. Surely Zoe wouldn't be having an affair with Petyr or be escaping with him somewhere. She did send Robert to Winterfell for safety, which made sense…

"What about Arya Stark?" Adam asked, and the room was no less well informed.

"The girl has been questioned," Stannis spoke up, to add to the discussion. "She was with the Princess Myrcella and within the Tower of the Hand during the events."

"I'm sorry to hear, Lord Arryn," Adam told the Hand, already envisaging a meeting with Grace whether the others liked it or not. "I'll help any way I can."

Clara/MARGAERY

"Young niece," Clara glanced up at the table where her family was breaking their fast, to see her uncle Garth hand her a missive from the raven.

"Thanks," Clara replied, as she supposed he left to perform his duties as Lord Seneschal.

"Who's it from?" Willas asked.

"King's Landing," she replied, without thinking.

"Surely the king," Mace beamed. "Open it, open it!"

Clara rolled her eyes, inner fury building such that her father should still be thinking along those lines. There was no royal seal; but when she opened it, it was in an Al Bhed code.

"It's not from the king," she rose, heading out of the hall, and scrutiny and quizzical looks followed her.

"Girls," Alerie propositioned the Tyrell cousins. "Please see if Margaery is well."

Megga, Alla and Elinor hurried out, to find Clara in her chambers, the scratching of her quill as she seemed to be writing out parts of the letter she had received.

"Who's it from?" Elinor cooed, but frowned when she saw the indecipherable script.

"What are you doing," Clara tossed both pieces of parchment in the fire. She had seen enough to know what she had read. "Get out."

"Margaery," Megga replied, hurt. "Your mother - "

"Get out!" Clara closed the door in their faces. In the grate, the parchment curled but there was nothing she could do now.

Max/SAM

As the _Arbor Queen_ rocked in the gentle breeze, Oldtown was coming into sight. The betrothal with Paxter Redwyne's daughter was set, though Max's time in the simulation would be up before then.

"Samwell," Randyll jerked his head to follow.

Max obeyed, if nothing other than the cockiness that he had proved to Adam he could get Sam into shape. He certainly wouldn't go so far as to win his father's love; that he knew he didn't need, even if he didn't have one in real life himself.

Atop the prow, Randyll dismissed his guards and turned to his son with a hard stare.

"Years I've spent training you to toughen up," he seemed to weigh the words, irritated that he could not explain the change. "What was it? The warlocks?"

"What?" Max frowned. Adam had told him there was scant magic to be found in the land.

"Don't be idle, boy," Randyll remarked. "Something made you this way. Was it your mother's clothes, sleeping in chainmail or bathing in the blood of an aurochs?"

Max felt fury that this man should treat Sam this way. For all his loss of a father at an early age, to know that they could be cruel made him think that boys with fathers like these were better off without them…

Grace/ARYA

"Lady Arya," one of the Arryn soldiers who stood guard to the Hand's apartments. "Lord Renly is here to see you."

"Let him in," Grace said, wracked with worry ever since Zoe had been reported missing.

Adam walked in, his face glum and bowed elaborately, as clearly tired as he was of pretending.

"Might we have some privacy, please?" Adam asked the servants, who nodded and soon the chambers were theirs, the doors closed in peace. He held a finger to his lips, and came close to her to whisper, "We might not be alone."

Grace nodded, leading him into where the remains of the midday feast had been served, where at the balcony a breeze fluttered the sheer curtain and the stench of the capital floated like a haze.

"Do you know where she is?" Grace asked.

"Of course I don't," Adam replied, annoyed as of course _Renly_ wouldn't know; he couldn't admit as such to any one listening. "Did she tell you where was going?"

"No," Grace shook her head. "She just said she would be back soon."

"Where could she be," Adam asked out loud. It would be one thing if Petyr had returned alive; but that both of them failed to show up suggested something murky.

"Maybe she wanted to escape," Grace said out loud, wincing at his look that she should be careful what she said. "Where do you get out of here?"

Adam noticed Grace for Arya as she was, and blinked. His look of sudden realisation told her volumes, and he hurried away, telling her, "Stay here."

"Not you too," Grace said feebly, but could do naught but stay here, safe in the Red Keep.

Adam/RENLY

Adam headed out of the Tower of the Hand, remembering where the original Arya scarpered to while chasing a cat for the Sealord of Braavos. He waved a lit torch and descended into a cavernous area where the dragon skulls were kept.

As he continued, he kicked the extinguished stub of a torch which clattered across the ground and jumped in fright, but otherwise there was nothing to be seen. He was sure he was not alone, but when he shone the torch, the shadows told him nothing.


End file.
